Pain has an element of blank; It cannot recollect When it began, or if there were A day when it was not. It has no future but itself,

275 Doubt Me! My Dim Companion! Why, God, would be content With but a fraction of the Life— Poured thee, without a stint—

444 It feels a shame to be Alive— When Men so brave—are dead— One envies the Distinguished Dust… Permitted—such a Head—

921 If it had no pencil Would it try mine— Worn—now—and dull—sweet, Writing much to thee.

689 The Zeroes—taught us—Phosphorous— We learned to like the Fire By playing Glaciers—when a Boy— And Tinder—guessed—by power

660 ’Tis good—the looking back on Gri… To re-endure a Day— We thought the Mighty Funeral— Of All Conceived Joy—

430 It would never be Common—more—I s… Difference—had begun— Many a bitterness—had been— But that old sort—was done—

The thought beneath so slight a fi… Is more distincly seen,— As laces just reveal the surge, Or mists the Apennine.

729 Alter! When the Hills do— Falter! When the Sun Question if His Glory Be the Perfect One—

910 Experience is the Angled Road Preferred against the Mind By—Paradox—the Mind itself— Presuming it to lead

Lives he in any other world My faith cannot reply Before it was imperative ’Twas all distinct to me -